Tuesday, 7 June 2016

Dear You,
first week of June over - and no entry here!
If you come to Berlin: this would be a perfect time. The Linden (lime) are openening their millions of little flowers, soak the warm (well: at the moment: very hot) air, make your head giddy, make your soul sing with joy, your whole being can bathe in it - gorgeous!
(You see: it really gets me too :-)
And for a day that might not be filled with that natural drug, yesterday I bought a reminder in a bottle: at "Frau Toni's" near Checkpoint Charly they produce a room-perfume "Linde". Normally I abstain from all these scented things for the house - but this is simply great.
(A month ago I found there a real perfume - for me to wear - which contains a lot of "violet". It was the favourite perfume of Marlene Dietrich. Violet is very difficult to get in Germany - I told you that I found a sufficiently nice whiff in my preferred perfume 'Balenciaga - Paris". And now I found out, that Serge Lutens, who works for Shiseido and on his own, has created a very deep violet perfume, too - but: he only (!!!) sells it in Paris, in his own shop.
So:
one good reason more to go to Paris.
On the other hand: I would feel becoming dangerously near to an excentric man, whom I truly and deeply despised when I was young: an arrogant dilettante cook, Wolfram Siebeck. In the early Eighties he wrote that he 'always hopped on a plane to Paris' - every time he needed the little "haricots verts" (those very slim beans, almost as slim as knitting needles) - not available in Germany then.
At that time, hearing it I thought furiously about lamp posts and 'cake for hungry people'-quotes, and revolution, (later my mother's blue blood diluted all that and made me more gentle).
I hope that there are thousands of other good reasons to go to Paris - as many and as intoxicating as the scent of lime-flowers.

Monday, 7 April 2014

Dear You,
you know that I love perfumes.
But I had to abandon 'Balenciaga Paris' for a while, because my nose became 'blind' to the fragrance. After being wrapped up some time in 'Shalimar', I could change back - the old wisdom that a little distance to something you love often works wonders was valid here too. (Don't let go - just loosen your grip! Don't try too hard - be patient, be self-sufficient - or, more my style: love yourself, then you will be able to love others for what they are, not out of need. End of Britta's Readers Digest).
Somewhere I read: "Balenciaga Paris wears like a minimalist's veil". It smells of violets (without being sweet, romantic or old-fashioned - Charlotte Gainsbourgh fronted it, and she stands for urban). It is the perfume where I got the most feedback and praise from men: "What is it? You smell so good!"
I love violets. So I tried to find the pure version, just as a room perfume. (Looking for a reason to speak of 'my boudoir').
At the stall of the perfumer Jo Malone, the saleswoman said: "I don't have violets. May I offer you bluebells?" I stared at her. We talked. And so I found out that this very young woman never ever in her whole life had smelled the fragrance of a living sweet violet. (It made me think of those poor children who believe that milk comes in beverage cartons from lilac Milka cows).
There are not many perfumes with violets on the market. They offered 'Violets de Toulouse' on the Internet. But I didn't want a mixture, so I contacted my lovely old-fashioned Zieten-apothecary (here I always feel I'm stepping back into another century - old wooden shelves and cabinets and brown glass-bottles that cry 'Drink me! Drink me!" - they sell Chinese medicine and homeopathic drugs too, you get the picture). Yes - they would order violet fragrance for me. The pharmacist read: "Petals of violets". I asked: "Excuse me - are you sure these are the petals of the blossom?" "Yes".
OK. Next day I went there by underground, happy. I was less so when I opened the little bottle at home. It smelled like - hay. It was the juice from the green leaves. "Oh, I'm sorry", chirped the pharmacist, "bring it back. I will order something else - a violet oil."
Underground again. Disappointment at home - which I almost had expected, because it was too cheap to be the real thing. (I didn't telephone - I just throw it away - it smelled like candy floss).
The next day I passed a very nice little perfume-and-soap-shop. Went in. Talked with the young man about the impossibility to get violet-perfume these days. "Wow", he said, "you are ahead of fashion". (Modest as a violet I thought: I know - often I comb shops for clothes that will come three years later). "They created 'Viola' in 2013', and next year", he said, "sweetviolets will be the craze." "Ah", I said, "but I want them now."
(I'm not always a pure Taoist).
He thought for a long while, and than he made a telephone call to an Italian perfumer, L'Erbolario.
So, with a bit of luck, I might have found it. I will know it next week.

PS: If you want to read more about the sweet violet (and less about me :-), look at gardeninginhighheels.blogspot.com soon.